


Tap The Well, That The Water May Flow Freely Through The Fields

by orchidlocked



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: ...And I'll Write It Again!, Aftercare, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bondage, Cardassian Anatomy, Cardassian Culture, Cardassian Literature, Cardassians, Filthy, Hurt/Comfort, I've Written This Story Before..., Julian Bashir and Elim Garak's Book Club, Love Confessions, M/M, Masochism, Masochist Elim Garak, Obsidian Order, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rope Bondage, Safeword Use, Sappy, Sappy Ending, Service Kink, Soft Dom Julian Bashir, Trauma, Wet & Messy, complete and utter filth, fight me, past trauma, pure filth, safeword, switch rights, they switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidlocked/pseuds/orchidlocked
Summary: Garak is tied up in Julian's quarters, playing a dangerous game with himself. Love something and it will be taken from you. Love something and it will destroy you. Love something and it will be destroyed. Julian, deep in a Kardasi rabbit hole, has kept his studies from Garak. But keeping secrets requires effort, and can be given away by a simple slip of the tongue. Julian is capable of knowing Garak; will Garak grant him the chance, if he is willing?
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 52
Kudos: 81





	Tap The Well, That The Water May Flow Freely Through The Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags before reading. A perfect summary of Garashir IMHO. This is a piece in which someone has a panic attack and has to safeword. Mentions of childhood trauma and abuse. Brief mention of animal abuse. Garak's shitty dad makes an appearance. Good BDSM practices, aftercare heavy! I don't know if I write ultra fluffy Garashir but I consider this a happy and sappy ending. 
> 
> This is definitely heavy on the BDSM, more Bondage/Masochism than Dominance or Sadism, but still, if BDSM power dynamics aren’t your thing be forewarned. Switch rights forever. Also, it’s filthy. Like, filthy as fuck. Literally the filthiest Garashir I’ve written and uhhhhhhh… that’s saying something. That’s really saying something. Don’t ask me about the physical properties of this liquid I’m writing about lmao. I have no clue. And as usual every time I write these two, they have a mind of their own when it comes to the plot and what should happen. Aka a piece that was supposed to be short and filthy is now *checks notes* well over 10k words and involves forbidden Kardasi literature… All right… uhh… here we go. 
> 
> Also important – my idea of the UT in this fic is a bit more loosey goosey, I think I explained it a bit later. I was not emotionally stable enough to listen to the new Sondre Lerche album while writing this but I did anyways….. Oops! All Emotions! All right, here we go again. I’ve written this story before… and I’ll write it again!

Garak was in agony. He was in his quarters, fully naked, with the lights down low and the heat turned up. His arms were suspended above him, tied firmly in place with thick black satin rope. He was standing over a shallow pan, perhaps as deep as the width of his fingers, with one leg on either side. The pan was held up by a single, narrow wooden block, and came up to just below where his knee scales began. His orders had been to keep the pan in place, and ‘not to spill a drop.’ Garak’s thighs were trembling from the effort of gripping the edges of the pan with his legs, and he was deep in an Obsidian Order meditation that had gotten him through multiple rounds of torture at the hands of the Tal Shiar. This was torture, but it was torture he’d demanded. Garak started to look down at the liquid sloshing around in the pan and thought better of it. Instead, he turned his attention to the timepiece on the wall, which indicated that he was so close. So close to release. Any moment now, his Doctor would walk through the door, and with any luck, tell him what a good job he’d done, how ‘utterly delicious’ he was. Garak closed his eyes and let his head hang down. He was doing counted breath meditation when the door chimed and Julian entered his quarters. Garak flicked his tongue out to smell his delicious Doctor, the familiar aroma of sandalwood and Kardasi mint reaching Garak long before Julian’s warm hand settled on his shoulder ridge.

“How are you holding up?” Julian whispered into Garak’s ear. Always concerned about his safety. Garak wasn’t convinced he deserved this kindness, but that was the one condition Julian insisted upon before granting him these pleasures. ‘You have to tell me if you need me to stop,’ Julian had said again and again, repeating himself to the point of monotony, just to make sure Garak understood that he meant it.

“Quite well,” Garak said.

“And you’ll tell me if you’re not?”

Garak nodded.

“Good. Very good.” Julian took off his hideous Starfleet uniform, tossed it onto the back of a chair, and stripped down to his pants. “Are you warm enough?” The ring of bite marks Garak had left on his neck a few days ago were still there, Garak noted with pride.

“Yes,” Garak said quietly.

“Good. Now, what have you got for me?” Julian looked down at the shimmering pale blue liquid in the pan below where Garak stood. “Hmm, doesn’t seem like it’s as much as the last time we did this,” he said in a maddeningly level tone of voice. “Have I failed to tap the well, darling?” Garak groaned and closed his eyes; he was already flushed, but now even his nose began to turn a lovely shade of deep blue. 

Julian had initially been surprised to learn that the most vulgar of sexually suggestive phrases in Kardasi revolved around water; after all, the planet was well known for not having much of it, and he knew about the corresponding Cardassian physiological adaptations from his medical studies. (Rather, he thought he knew.) Why, then, would a species used to living without much water make such a fuss about it, to the point where Julian had gotten three-quarters of the way through a well-known work of Cardassian erotica before realizing it wasn’t actually a guide to methods of agricultural irrigation? It didn’t take him long to find out. And it didn’t really matter who did what; whether it was Garak spilling down his throat, all over his torso, in his arse, or Julian pumping Garak’s ajan full of warmth, lapping and sucking at Garak’s scale covered lips until he was drenched, how did the saying go? “A true orator is one who can talk their way out of a drought”? Julian couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. The point was, the more aroused a Cardassian was, the more ‘water’ they would produce. To render one in a state of intense arousal was to ‘tap the well,’ and that was Julian’s intention.

Garak shuddered and strained against the ropes that held his arms in place; he let out a small, dreadfully undignified whimper as a rush of fluid dripped out of his ajan. He didn’t often ask for Julian to tie him up and use him until he was wrung out, brain spinning with endorphins, too tired to work but too sprung to rest; when it got to the point where he needed this, when his thoughts threatened to drag him into a place he couldn’t escape, he begged. And Julian obliged. Which only made Garak love him more, though he dared not speak it.

Garak was only four when his father taught him a lesson about love, the only time Tain had ever used the word. He had found a psi’mar on his way to schooling and brought it home. The shelled beast was small enough to fit in his pocket without being noticed, and Garak decided to keep it secret from everyone else in the household. He observed what the adult psi’marii ate, gathered up the plants and fed the juvenile the freshest snips of Kardasi mint, wild lance lettuce, and the roots of the sand orchid. The psi’mar grew under his care, and it was not discovered by his father until half a year had passed. Tain seemed mildly amused when he found the enclosure Garak had set up underneath the stand which held his books and stone runes.

“How long have you had the psi’mar?”

“Four seasons,” Garak had answered truthfully.

“How did you keep something this large from all of us in the household?” Tain had asked, on his knees, his face open and expressive.

“Kilpi was much smaller then.” A young Elim thought he was being clever.

“Kilpi?”

“That is the name I gave.”

“You gave this creature a name? You must care for it a great deal.”

“Care?”

“You loved the psi’mar enough to care for it properly and ensure that it was able to grow, yes?”

Garak was confused, yet answered ‘yes,’ as it was the truth, and his father and his teachers and all the Cardassian fables indicated the importance of telling the truth.

The next day, when Garak returned from school with a bag full of foraged plants and fresh glik berries, he went straight to Klipi’s enclosure. Klipi was not there. Garak began searching his room for the segmented reptile.

“Are you trying to find something, Garak?” Tain asked from the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Klipi is gone.”

“Ahh. Come with me.” Garak’s hands and feet began to tingle as he followed his father outside to the shed attached to their dwelling. He recognized the broken shards of Klipi’s shell on the red sandy soil and instantly knew what his father had done without Tain even having to say it.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Elim. Love something and it will be taken from you.”

Even at this young an age, Garak knew better than to show any emotion, let alone to cry in front of his father. He met his father’s steely gaze, swallowed, and went silently back inside, to his room. He did not allow himself to feel any emotion about Klipi, and the memory was the first he chose to repress during his early training in the Order. Garak truly thought he had forgotten it, that he was indestructible, capable of blocking out all pain, until decades later.

Garak was living in the capital city at the time, in a functional but bare flat near Central Command. He’d just returned from a mission to a lunar colony when he caught a short news segment on the last thousand psi’marii being placed into a conservation program due to the loss of their habitat on Cardassia Prime. The childhood memory hit him so hard, he dropped to the tile floor instead of the chair that was nearby. He cried for the first time in five years that night, cried for Klipi and the senseless destruction. He woke up the next morning on the floor, feeling like he’d mainlined a cupful of tiz* and several bottles of kanar. After making up an excuse to delay his debriefing, Garak then donated his entire month’s wages to the Lakarian City Guardians of the Psi’Mar charity.

While Julian Bashir was no shelled, segmented outdoor creature living next to his sleeping mat, Garak felt the same cold fear creep into his throat sometimes when he watched Julian, smelled him, ran his rough fingertips over Julian’s velvet-soft skin.

Love something and it will be taken from you. Love something and it is a weakness. Love something and it will destroy you. Love something and it will be destroyed. A dangerous game he was playing; far more deadly than tampering with his since-removed Obsidian Order implant. But then again, Garak had never been one to avoid danger. He’d warned Julian, even. At least he’d tried to. The first time they’d kissed, Garak had looked him in the eyes and warned that he was a ‘dangerous serpent,’ and what had Julian done? He had laughed and said he was ‘up for an adventure.’ So Garak allowed it. He would continue to play this game for as long as Julian would allow it, would allow him to slick him up and fuck him until he was drenched in sweat, would laugh while Garak licked the salt from his skin, would get on his knees before Garak and lick his slit so boldly Garak would shake as he came all over Julian’s warm face, as long as Julian would do this for him, this process that allowed him to come undone, to release so much of the tangled, horrible things he held inside.

“The well has been tapped,” he gasped as Julian placed his warm hands on the tailor’s knees.

“Has it?” Julian slipped his slender fingers up into Garak’s ajan and felt around until he could grab the egg-shaped toy that had been inside him for several hours. One small twist of his hand, and the egg was in Julian’s palm, along with a flood of slick that gushed out of Garak, flowed over Julian’s hand, and then into the shallow pan below. “Ahh,” Julian said, his expressive face coming alive with curiosity. Garak shut his eyes; the feel of the fluid leaving his body was shameful enough, but the sound of it dripping steadily into the pan below was mortifying.

“[Please, I beg, Chu’lian,]” Garak said in broken Kardasi. 

“[Please? What is your ask?]” In his current state, Garak had forgotten that Julian knew some Kardasi now; it sent a shock of arousal through him every time his Doctor spoke the curling, swirling tongue of his home world.

“Surely you can see the evidence of my desires. Will you continue to punish me so?”

Julian smelled the liquid, then made a show of licking some of it off his hand; that part was for Garak’s benefit, who was now dripping more and more that Julian was in the room. He locked eyes with Garak, a wicked smile upon his face. “I will invite the rains until you ask me to stop.” Garak pursed his lips, but did not speak the words Julian had demanded he use if he wished to stop.

So Julian didn’t stop. “Move,” he said as he tapped the inside of Garak’s knee. He kicked the wooden block out of the way and carefully lifted the pan full of Garak’s ‘rains’ and set it on the floor between Garak’s feet. Julian dropped to his knees in front of Garak and dipped his hands into the liquid, and began shamelessly splashing it all over his face, as casually as if it was water, washing himself with it as though it hadn’t come straight from Garak, who had been so painfully aroused for hours, he’d been dripping like a faucet.

“Doctor, I am not certain this is the intended use for this variety of water,” Garak offered, his voice breaking over the words.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Julian said, maintaining eye contact.

Julian was always fast with his tongue, (the reason Garak had fallen for him in the first place) but he wasn’t always bold like this; most of the time, he preferred to lay back and allow Garak to lavish attention on him, in every way possible, at all hours of the day. Garak lived to serve his every need, from making Tholian silk pajamas and fashionable off-duty clothing, to learning to cook various Earth dishes, from scandalous quick interludes in the shop, to marathons of intimacy of the type that were so revered on Cardassia. As it was embedded into every facet of Cardassian society, service came naturally to Garak. Allowing others to meet his needs? That, on the other hand, had to be dragged out of him. Only Julian had been able to do that. Garak thought of the last time they’d done this, and there it went, another rush of fluid from his body.

“I wasn’t aware I was entering monsoon season.” Garak was rather proud of himself for getting off a quip in his highly compromised state.

“Ahh, but whenever we do this, you usually are. Replicator, two glasses of rokassa juice with kol’madi.” Julian stood and walked to the replicator. Garak caught a glimpse of his waters shimmering all over Julian’s back, and then he heard the trickle of more slick falling into the pan.

“Drink.” Julian held a glass to his lips, and Garak quickly sucked it down. Always the physician, Julian had gotten him to drink three glasses of this before he’d lowered the hook from the ceiling and tied Garak up. Rokassa was Garak’s favorite, and the kol’madi plant was well known in Cardassian explicit texts as a ‘hydrator.’

“Good,” Julian said, stroking the side of Garak’s neck as he finished the second glass. Indeed, Garak felt refreshed; these sessions did take it out of him, literally, and who knows what might have happened if he’d continued without Julian forcing him to hydrate. Then Julian was on his knees, staring at the liquid in the pan. “You have drenched me today.” He dipped one of the glasses into the pan and filled it to the rim.

“Surely, you…” Garak couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Well, I can’t let it go to waste,” said Julian, his eyebrow raised, a positively wicked grin upon his face. Then the Terran pressed the glass to his lips and _drank_.

Garak sputtered out a series of nonsense sounds. Even the written mention of this was taboo.

Julian sipped more of Garak’s waters and hummed his pleasure. He closed his eyes and smacked his mouth together, the way he did when he drank wine, or kanar. “You taste almost floral today, Garak,” he said before licking his lips, and drinking more.

The sight of a sybaritic and utterly debauched Julian Bashir drinking the evidence of his arousal caused something akin to a short circuiting in Garak’s body. He was ‘flooding’ at this point, having long lost control of the ability to stop more water from leaving his ajan. As Julian tipped the glass to the ceiling and drained the last of the pale blue liquid, Garak grimaced as more fluid left him and dripped with a melodic sound into the pan.

“Oh,” Julian said, rolling the glass away from him, and immediately dropping to the floor.  
He carefully moved the pan and laid under Garak’s ajan, positioning himself so the Cardassian could see the unabashed joy on his face as he opened his mouth and caught as much of Garak’s fluids as he could, using his hands to take whatever he missed and rub it over his chest, his neck, into his hair.

“[Doctor,]” Garak stuttered in Kardasi. The privilege of having someone so beautiful rolling around underneath him like this did not exist on Cardassia. It was not available for any price. Not even to watch; even holos this indecent could get one fired, even exiled. Garak knew military leaders who had lost everything for far less.

“[My name, please,]” Julian responded.

“[Chu’lian.]” Garak remembered the first time he’d turned off his Universal Translator and let Julian hear nothing but Kardasi from his lips. He’d ended up fucking Julian all night long, talking about everything from Kardasi weather patterns to repeating random nonsense phrases, at one point reaching for a bottle of scale conditioning oil and reading the ingredients aloud while Julian rode him like a Kardasi p’moor. Afterwards, they had resumed their intimate bickering; Garak had called himself nothing more than a humble beast of burden while washing and kneading Julian’s lovely shoulders in the shower. The memory was now one of Garak’s most treasured, something he reached for when under duress. And Julian had enjoyed it so much that Garak, who already spoke flawless Federation Standard, started turning it off whenever they were intimate, giving him the choice to whip out the whirling, curling sounds of Cardassia whenever he felt like it. An unintended, yet wondrous, side effect of this was that Julian began learning Kardasi, and that he was highly motivated to continue his ‘studies.’

Julian reached up and carefully ran his fingers over the dripping outer edges of Garak’s ajan, and then took himself in hand, smearing Garak’s rains all over his cock. The sounds of Julian touching himself so, the smacks and pops of skin covered with slick, went straight to Garak’s already-molten core, and a new rush of liquid left him, falling from him right onto Julian’s chest. Julian scooted back and returned the pan to its position between Garak’s feet.

“Watch me.” Garak wasn’t sure if all humans were exhibitionists, or if it this was a trait unique to this particular human. Julian had the audacity to laugh and stare Garak directly in the eyes as he pushed the blue fluid straight down his torso with one hand, not even bothering to scoop it off himself, opting instead to lazily direct its flow until the rains reached his other hand, which was tightly clutched around the base of his cock. The light was bouncing off Julian’s skin in waves from where Garak had soaked him, glistening in thin lines over his torso, his neck, his shoulders.

“Give me more,” Julian demanded, licking his lips and wantonly moaning as he shamelessly jacked himself off in front of Garak, working every single angle and performing every trick he knew to keep Garak turned on and leaking. Because the pan was now in between Garak’s feet, rather than suspended below his knees, the distance his rains had to travel was further, therefore the sound it made when it splashed into the pan was louder, a cycle that kept building upon itself. Julian locked eyes with Garak as he fucked his hand with gusto, sliding in slowly and then snapping his hips wickedly, the exact same way he liked to fuck Garak. Garak’s eyelashes fluttered; he twitched against the ropes, and the worst part of all was that he didn’t even care that his tells were showing at this point. To be known like this was to be compromised, and Garak had been made.

“Always… so very forward, my dear,” Garak gasped and averted his eyes from the debauched sight before him. He truly had to concentrate now, or he would evert, and that was the other part of it; he wasn’t allowed to evert until Julian told him so. Thankfully, Julian seemed to notice that Garak was nearing his breaking point. As he always did.

Julian rose to his knees and placed his long, beautiful fingers on Garak’s inner thighs, the heat of them causing Garak’s scales to come alive in flashes of blue and navy. “Look at me,” he said softly, the way he preferred to issue his commands; in the same gentle tone he used afterwards, when he was untying Garak’s wrists or ankles, running a dermal regenerator over the bruises left behind. The steadiness under the softness was always what undid Garak, and he did, indeed, look at Julian. The doctor reached inside him with two fingers, and although Garak knew what was coming, he still wasn’t prepared for the rush of pleasure as Julian pressed at the base of his organ. Garak let out a slow, measured exhale. He was an Obsidian Order operative. He would endure.

The slow trickle of slick turned into a small but steady flow, dripping right into the pan, splashing lightly against his ankles, and Julian hummed his pleasure. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said quietly, staring at his fingers where they disappeared into Garak’s ajan.

Garak couldn’t do anything but suck in a quick breath and look at the ceiling. Then he felt the searing heat of Julian’s tongue inside of him, and he jerked his arms against the rope and cried out in pleasure. Julian’s nose and chin were pressed against the lips of his seam, his hot tongue running over his organ, his fingers gently exploring the raised scales around Garak’s ajan. Another river flowed out of Garak, and he cried out so loudly that Julian felt him clench around his mouth.

Julian pulled away, took one hand to tap Garak’s abdomen. “Eyes on me,” he said. Julian waited until Garak locked eyes with him, and then slowly, deliberately placed his mouth back on Garak, resuming his slow sucking and licking explorations of Garak’s ajan, his fingers lazily stroking inside.

Garak’s jaw dropped at the sight of his waters spilling down Julian’s face, inside his mouth and out again, flowing over his chin, soaking his chest. “Oh, please,” Garak begged.

Julian could feel him growing harder under his fingers and he knew it was time to allow some of the pressure to release. He slowly removed his hand from Garak’s ajan. “Go on now.” relishing in the guttural groan and rumble that came from Garak’s chest as he everted into Julian’s slicked up, waiting hand.

But before Garak could feel the sense of relief of no longer being locked inside his purse, Julian had taken his sotl in hand and was rubbing his own erect cock all over it, taking more of Garak’s liquids for himself. Garak felt like he was about to completely lose control, and then Julian grabbed them both together and ran his hot, slick hand over them as they were nestled together. At this point Garak’s entire body was trembling, and his scales and ridges were pulsing in time with his heartbeat, growing deeper in color with every moment.

“Do… you want to try?” Julian murmured, taking an arm and wrapping it around Garak’s hips.

Garak took a steadying breath, then nodded.

Julian carefully took Garak’s slippery length in his hand and slowly pressed it back inside his ajan. The slang for the act was ‘folding the hose’; thankfully, Julian found that terminology as gauche as Garak and only ever talked about it in vague terms of ‘overfilling.’ Today, he didn’t say a word as he nestled Garak’s sotl back inside his pocket, only glancing up to meet Garak’s eyes to make sure he was okay with continuing. They didn’t do this often, but Garak thought about it constantly; the control and denial of pleasure it required absolutely sapped him, left his mind blissfully blank for days afterwards, a far better rush than his implant or any kanar could grant.

“Yes?” Julian asked as he lined up the head of his cock with Garak’s lips.

Garak nodded and closed his eyes. Julian pushed in slowly; he had to, of course, because there was barely any room for him. Julian was hot and hard and slick, and despite the building pressure, it was a feeling Garak wanted more of. It was too much, Julian was too big to fit like this, and it was not enough, Julian was moving far too slowly to get Garak off. He was aware of the ropes starting to rub into his scales, the tremble in his legs from standing in the same spot for hours, the ache in his feet from several long days at the shop. But he was here, in this moment, on the exquisite edge of pain and pleasure, Julian’s warm cock slowly gliding against his sotl, all trapped and stuffed up inside his purse. Every tiny move Julian made caused Garak to continue flowing, leaking, gushing all over Julian, who was breathing hot against his neck, his sweat starting to stick to Garak’s scales, his warm hands gripping Garak’s arse.

Garak retreated into his mind, into deeper techniques for resisting pain, or in this case, pleasure. No permanent harm would come to either him or Julian if he everted now, but his orgasm would be short and fleeting, and he’d have to wait a few days before giving it another go. No, he must remain strong, silent. There was no other option than to continue. “No way but forward,” as they often said in the Order. Garak clenched his fists and counted out an exhale.

Julian fucked into Garak slowly and steadily, seeking his own pleasure without regard for the overwhelming sensation of his cock rubbing up against Garak’s overstimulated sotl. He moaned and undulated his body shamelessly; he was being selfish, indulgent, exactly as Garak had asked him to be. Garak had settled into a meditative state with the motions, the smells, the feel of Julian against him and deep inside him. He was successfully riding the wave of torturous pleasure, and then Julian started talking.

“I’m going to use you,” Julian said as he clamped a hand over Garak’s nose and mouth. “Do you understand me?”

Garak nodded. Julian quickened the pace of his hips, pushing Garak’s sotl into an uncomfortable angle against his irliun’or, the organ responsible for creating the copious waters during sexual activity. A new rush of slick left him, and Julian grinned like a man gone mad, taking a moment to run his finger over the top seam of Garak’s ajan.

“I’m going to use you just like this, use you all up.” Julian said through gritted teeth. Garak felt a deep sense of satisfaction watching Julian be affected like this; he was losing control, the evidence of his arousal was present in his smell and in the focused look on his face as he continued to snap his hips against Garak.

“I’m going to drain you, do you understand? I will make you flood me like the monsoon,” Julian said forcefully as he thrust deeply and sharply into Garak.

“Yes,” Garak choked out.

“That’s because you’re mine.” Julian scratched down Garak’s spine. Garak really had been meaning to get him a set of metal claws, so he could truly feel it when Julian did this. He made a mental note to request two ‘hand attached back scratchers’ from Cardassia Prime in his next smuggled order from Quark. “Mine to use as I see fit.” That was new. Julian hadn’t talked like this to Garak before, and his head was starting to spin. Garak inhaled sharply, looked upwards as if to beg for the strength to withstand the assault of pleasure.

“Mine to have any way I want.” Julian slapped him across the face, hard, and Garak cried out in pleasure and felt himself flooding again, over Julian’s cock, down his legs, only some of it making it into the pan. He was so wet that Julian slipped out with an obscene pop and had to take a moment to stuff himself back in, thrusting more desperately once he again was fully seated inside Garak’s velvet purse.

“[Yes,]” Garak breathed in Kardasi, the choice of any language but his father tongue beyond him at this point.

Julian was fucking him hard enough now that his external organs (Garak always forgot what those were called) were flopping up against him, and his sharp hipbones had started to leave sore spots on Garak’s lower torso. Garak couldn’t recall a time he had ever been more aroused, more thoroughly used, more at peace. He felt like he was floating, no longer even needing to concentrate on not everting. His body had gone lax, his legs were no longer trembling, and the ache in his shoulders had subsided.

“Mine to have,” Julian repeated over and over, his sweat dripping onto Garak now and his body starting to give the tells that he was close to orgasm. He put his hand on the back of Garak’s neck and yanked hard enough to cause their foreheads to knock together. “Mine,” Julian said as he tightened his other arm around Garak, who by this point was leaking a small stream of fluid that dripped down Julian’s thighs, to the inside of his calves, all the way to the cheap carpet that covered the floor in his quarters.

The head of Julian’s cock slammed against the base of Garak’s irliun’or and he started to shudder and convulse with pleasure; not quite an orgasm but was a similar state of heightened sensation that Cardassians could reach under certain circumstances. It had never happened to Garak, not even in all the experimentation he’d done with his implant. His entire body was hot, tingling, awash in a rolling thrill. Garak leaned forward so he could lick some of the sweat that was rolling down Julian’s neck. The salty taste of him was exquisite, and Garak let out a deeply satisfied, wanton moan as Julian continued fucking him hard and fast. He felt Julian come, flooding him with heat as his hips jerked arrhythmically. One last deep thrust and then Julian stilled, his cock still twitching, deeper inside him than Garak knew was possible, stuttering out nonsense syllables alongside Garak’s name and clutching his shoulder ridges desperately.

“There, you can…” Julian could barely get out the words to grant Garak permission to let go. And then, just before Garak went over the edge, as Julian carefully slipped out of him, Julian bit down directly on his aural ridge. Garak everted instantly and came untouched, squirting all over Julian’s torso in forceful spurts. Garak's brain went mercifully blank, and his vision started to blur around the edges as his orgasm finally hit him after hours of denial.. As the final waves of pleasure washed over him, he fully surrendered to the moment and allowed Julian to support him, to stroke his hair as he rested his head on Julian’s shoulder.

“How are you?” Julian asked, his voice husky and low. When Garak looked at him blankly, Julian reached up to where his wrists were still restrained above him and checked the tightness of the rope.

“As good as ever,” Garak lied. He felt more vulnerable than normal, but he chalked it up to the intensity of this particular session.

“Do you wish to continue on like this?”

“Yes.”

Julian grinned. “All right.” He walked to where his trousers were hung over the back of the chair and plucked a slender strip of black fabric from them. “May I?” He mimed putting the fabric over his eyes, and Garak nodded, agreeing to the blindfold. Julian nudged the fabric into position and managed to tie it without pulling a single strand of Garak’s hair. “How is that?”

“Fine.”

“All right. Well, since you have been so generous with your rains today, I will leave the pan on the floor. No need to play balance again.” Julian reached down and adjusted the pan, touched Garak’s ankles and knees. “And I will be done with work in a few hours, and well, I guess we can see where we end up then.” He pressed his forehead to Garak’s, and then Garak heard the rustles of Julian’s legs going into his trousers, his Starfleet uniform going over his head, the clomp of Julian’s shoes being shoved onto his feet. Garak noted with pride Julian wasn’t showering before heading to work, and wished for a split second that there was even one other Cardassian on the station who would be able to smell everything he’d left all over his doctor. The fabric over Garak’s eyes felt a bit too tight, and he thought of asking Julian to adjust it, but bit back his tongue. Then he heard Julian walking towards the door, and instantly, there was a sharp spine of fear lodged in his throat. Despite the heights of pleasure he’d reached, (both with and without Julian being present,) the thought of remaining like this for the rest of the day caused Garak to panic; suddenly the room was too small, the restraints too tight, the air too thin. 

“Chu’lian, I can’t,” Garak’s breathing had turned shallow and he was struggling against the ropes on his wrists. He only had to utter the first syllable of his safe word before Julian had already reached up and released him, the doctor’s warm hands roaming his hands and wrists. Garak thought he heard the beeping of a tricorder, but he couldn’t be sure. Somehow Julian managed to wrangle him onto the lounge and into his arms without Garak being of much help. 

He hated having to stop the activities, even this weak-willed Federaji concept of a ‘safe word’ felt like indulgent weakness, like losing the dangerous game he knew better than to be playing. Garak thought of the torture he’d meted out and received during his many years serving in the Obsidian Order and felt humiliated, defeated, lost. After the pain collars, the poisons, the constant light, the sleep deprivation, it was a slender piece of fabric and the promise of more sweet, delayed pleasure that caused him to unravel? How ironic. Garak felt weak, and weakness was a fatal flaw, a luxury he had never been allowed to have.

Garak was distantly aware of Julian tapping his comm badge, saying “something had come up” and he wouldn’t be returning to work today. He was still shaking uncontrollably when Julian gently laid him down on his side so he could hold him from behind, his arms somehow feeling bigger and stronger than ever.

Julian shushed, even cooed, at him, little ‘there there’s and ‘I have you,’s, in any other context Garak would have found it simpering, but as he tried to calm his pounding heart and come back to the reality of here and now, he was incredibly grateful for this warm-blooded Terran who wore his every emotion on his expressive face. He was reminded of the panic attacks of his youth, the ones he’d spent locked in a tiny, dark closet with not even a toy figurine for company. Garak nearly went to the awful place those memories often led to before a whiff of Julian’s musky scent brought him back to the present. He breathed in time with the circles Julian was rubbing on his chest and stomach, and soaked up the warmth of Julian’s skin touching his, let his fingers roam over the soft sheets, anything to ground himself in the moment. Julian’s warmth behind him calmed him, and it wasn’t long before he felt some of the tension in his muscles give way.

Garak closed his eyes, and some of his old visualization tricks kicked in: he was back on Cardassia Prime, walking in the market stalls of Kardasi’Or. He looked at the pink and orange colors of the Cardassian late afternoon sky, took in the perfect temperature, perfect humidity, the dust settling around the scales on his face, the sights and smells of home. Vendors selling jewelry and scale pigment and hair oil and bolts of fabric and fresh grown Uv (melon) and depset fruit, and little potted saplings and seedlings of ss’lei vine and sand rose for decorating windowsills across the capital city. The aroma of spicy rokat being grilled on the yat filled his nostrils and Garak turned, searching for the source. He saw the distinctive forest green and silver canopy of his favorite little food stand near the market and walked towards it, craving a hot rokat in a halakha wrap, topped with yamok sauce, sprinkled with t’vor mitkapsi. He heard the clinking bells marking the end of the lunchtime break, and then his eyes fluttered open.

He realized he had been dreaming: he was not in the markets of Kardasi’Or, he was still in his quarters, the lights low, the clinking sounds of the bells he’d heard in his dream were the sounds of spoons tinkling against dishes hot from the replicator. Julian was in the kitchen area, humming quietly to himself. The smells of food seemed to be real, and the hollow ache in his stomach was a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since last night. Garak stretched his arms, and the weight of a soft blanket brushed against his scales in a delightful way. He soon realized he was naked under the blanket, and also that he was extremely, comfortably warm. Garak noted the blanket was far heavier than it should be, then felt the crisscrossing warmth elements inside the fabric. His eyelids still heavy, his head still fuzzy, he groaned as he pushed himself up into a seated position.

“Ah, you have awakened.” Julian plopped onto the sofa and threw an arm around Garak. He was wearing one of Garak’s forest green robes, and the Cardassian felt a possessive thrill at seeing his Doctor in his clothing. Julian landed a peck on Garak’s temple and then stood. “You must be famished. Up now.”

He handed Garak a thick, fluffy robe. Garak noticed his slippers had been set next to the lounge for him. He padded across the room to the kitchen table, still warm and cozy all the way down to his toe claws.

“I assume you didn’t hack into my private stash of tranquilizers, so I must have meditated myself right into a little nap,” he quipped.

Julian met his eyes with a look of concern and Garak felt a twinge of guilt. “No, that would be more than unethical. You were asleep for a few hours. And I know full well you don’t have any such private stash,” Julian muttered as he brought a few plates over to the table. 

Garak blinked, still bleary eyed. “A few hours? Well. I apologize for trapping you here with only the dulcet tones of my snoring for companionship.”

“You don’t snore, Garak.”

“Still, you probably could have gone back to work for some of that time. I was asleep.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you here alone. Not after... not after that.”

Garak was flooded, this time with a wash of emotions. Julian hadn’t left him, had instead stayed in his quarters while he had fallen asleep after a nauseating display of weakness. He wasn’t sure what to make of the blooming feeling in his chest. 

“What will you have to drink? More rokassa?”

“I will allow my medical professional to make that decision for me,” Garak said with a nod. He was unsurprised when Julian asked for a pitcher full of rokassa with kol’madi, although he did not expect quite so many dishes to be brought to the table. “This is a feast worthy of praise, of song, perhaps even of a repetitive epic?” Julian laughed. “Do tell, what is on the menu this evening, Doctor?”

“Rokat on a bed of halakha. With a side of water berries and bitter ol’lo greens.” Julian nailed the correct pronunciation and enunciation of every Kardasi name. Garak indulged for a split second and imagined taking his doctor to Cardassia Prime, strolling down the walkways surrounding the State Archives arm in arm, arguing all the way home to the flat he still owned. A momentary fantasy. Not terribly dangerous, Garak decided.

“Oh, this meal could heal any ailment. Even one that was demanded.” Garak took a bite of the rokat and sighed. “Almost like home.” The food was delicious, each dish a traditionally replenishing choice for after vigorous sexual activity. “An excellent array for tonight’s dinner, my dear Doctor. My compliments to the chef.”

Julian beamed and blushed as he took his first bite of rokat. “Oh, it’s delicious! Reminds me of a dish my auntie used to make…”

The rest of the meal was spent in easy conversation and light bickering, the sort they usually engaged in on nights when either or both of them were worn out from the demands of work. After Julian loaded the dishes back in the replicator, Garak expected him to announce he was heading back to his own quarters. But he didn’t. He wandered back to the lounge and cleared the space next to him. 

Garak was slightly confused by this turn of events, but as spending time with Julian was one of the only bright spots in his entire existence, he followed Julian’s lead and sat down. Julian tucked Garak back under the heated blanket and turned on the holo, absentmindedly flipping through a few channels until landing on a nature documentary from Vulcan. They caught the end of the program about a wild relative of the sehlat.

“Anything in particular you’d like to see?” Julian asked, his warm arm around Garak’s shoulders.

“As long as you are with me, my dear, I have no need for further distractions.” Garak turned off the holoprojector and stared at Julian. The doctor took his hand and they sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Elim, are you – are you all right?” Julian asked quietly.

Garak smiled and hummed. “Your Kardasi is improving,” he said after a pause.

“My Kardasi?”

“It’s all in the way you say my name, dear Doctor.”

Julian laughed. “Ahh. Yes. I find the sounds are now less foreign in my mouth.”

“Indeed they are.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Julian climbed onto Garak’s lap and looked into his eyes. He raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“My [t’silrar,]” this was a Cardassian fruit that resembled an oversized tangerine; it was sweet, one of the sweetest natural flavors found on Cardassia Prime and as such, had been used as an endearment, “I find it hard to believe I could be doing any better.” He ran his hands down Julian’s warm back, and breathed in Julian’s scent as his doctor kissed him with his warm lips. Warmth. Everything about Julian was warm. Warmth he didn’t deserve, but would gladly take for himself.

“[T’silrar?]” Julian asked.

“[Fruit, of Cardassia,]” Garak said slowly. “[It is very sweet.]”

Julian smiled. “[Sweet as I?]”

“[Almost.]” Garak smiled, and Julian searched his face, looking for a tell that wouldn’t come.

“[T’silrar,]” Julian repeated, perfectly.

“[Yes. Sweet on the tongue.]”

Julian tried again. “[You are well?]”

“My dear Doctor, I again must state that in your company, I want for nothing.”

It wasn’t lost on Julian that Garak switched back to his diplomat-level Federation Standard in order to answer his question. An unsubtle deflection. “[How would you say?]”

A few clicks exited Garak’s mouth. "[Nice as sunshine.]”

Hmm. A warmth metaphor. Which was good. He was probably fine, if not a bit overloaded on endorphins, and as usual, Julian was likely worrying too much about whether he’d overdone it in giving Garak everything he asked for in one of these sessions. “[As you say,]” he responded, enjoying the feel of the sibilant sounds curling off his tongue, as well as Garak’s hands resting on his thighs.

“What about you, Doctor? Will you be leaving the office behind at any point today?” This was Garak’s classic way of teasing Julian whenever he expressed concern about him.

“[No more work. I only desire you to speak more Kardasi.]”

“Ah, well, all you have to do is come to the shop in a few days time, I’ve got a courier coming for an order of Emergement Ceremony gowns to a client in Lakarian City-“

“[To me.]”

“Do you now? You, the same doctor who finds basic Cardassian poetry ‘boring,’ and the most revered of epics, what did you say, ‘repetitive’?”

“I said speak, not read.”

“Is there truly such a difference between the written word and the spoken word?”

“[Yes,]” Julian said sensually. A bit of a dirty trick, but one with good intentions.

“[Learning is truly your desire?]”

“[Yes, to learn your body.]”

Garak tilted his head slightly in that enigmatic way of his. “You always have been quite skilled with your tongue, Doctor.” He continued letting his hands roam all over Julian’s thighs, his torso, his chest, and kissed him in a smoldering sort of way that reignited him. Julian briefly felt ashamed that he was so easily stimulated by his endlessly fascinating lover, the one puzzle he’d never been able to solve, the code he couldn’t crack.

“How, um, how tired are you, Garak?” Julian asked. Garak could smell his arousal, and only looked down at the tent in Julian’s Tholian silk lounge pants for indulgent reasons. (He had, after all, carefully crafted said Tholian silk lounge pants for this explicit purpose.)

“After a leisurely midday nap, and such a restorative meal? And the stimulating conversation? Why, Doctor, I feel as vigorous as a gettle ready to head into the fight.”

“Ah. Good.” Julian ground his hips against Garak, kissed him as though he hadn’t spent several hours doing just that, let out little breathy moans as Garak’s hands roamed over his body. He stood to remove the borrowed robe he was still wearing and slip out of his pants. Garak opened his robe just before Julian plopped back into his lap. “Besides, I’ve had a long day too.” Julian stuck his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Don’t I deserve a little something for all _my_ hard work?”

Garak threw his head back and laughed from his belly. “Oh, my dear, you deserve it all.” He grabbed Julian by the hips and shifted him over slightly. “Name your demand,” Garak said, his chin held high.

Julian tilted his head and grinned. “You’re smiling quite a lot this evening, Garak.”

“So I am.” Garak felt lighter, freer, like a good two decades had been taken off his shoulders from the endorphins released under Julian’s meticulous care. He tilted his head, smiled again at the gorgeous, warm creature sitting naked in his lap, then shrugged. “Try as I might, my dear, I am not capable of Betazoid telepathy. Name your demand that I might grant it.”

“Demands-" Julian drew the s out into a hiss, smiled his familar crooked smile.

“Demands that seem to multiply with every passing moment apparently. Don’t forget I am an old man who has been through a rigorous day-" Julian burst out laughing at this, “-and virtually useless aside of my abilities with fine textiles. Nevertheless, we must start somewhere. You were saying, Doctor?”

“I want you inside me,” Julian purred into his ear. “My [river star] is jealous of all the rain the pan got to hold today.”

“Oh, great virtue and value,” Garak muttered. “Now he uses the forbidden Kardasi as casually as though he is speaking to the replicator. What’s next? Will he reference the ancient irrigation diagrams found on the walls of the caves at K’or T’vessmar?”

“[Perhaps.]” Julian’s Kardasi was indeed improving; even if he only was using basic conversational terms, his accent at this point was indistinguishable from the standard academic dialect used in governmental settings.

“[Your desire is my pleasure to grant, Chu’lian.]” Julian cupped Garak’s face with both his deliciously warm hands and kissed him; Garak could still smell and taste his waters all over Julian’s slightly sticky lips and chin. He blinked, surprised, and Julian saw the moment the recognition dawned on him.

“Didn’t get around to showering,” he said, a shameless grin on his face.

Garak inhaled sharply, arousal spiking through him despite the weariness in his muscles. “Do you walk around like this? Smelling of me on your face?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

Garak let out a sound that was almost pained, and shifted Julian so that he could evert. He shot out of his purse, more of his waters soaking Julian and the robe beneath him. “You know, Doctor,” he held Julian in close and his voice sank down into that low tone he only used when they were together like this, “if any Cardassian were on this station, they would be able to tell that I’d had you, that you’d had me. They could smell me all over you from the minute they arrived.”

“[A desired outcome,]” Julian responded.

Garak nipped at Julian’s neck, coming close to breaking the skin, but not quite. “Come here, you hungry little hor’sissk,” he said as he stroked himself to full hardness.

Julian obliged, shifting his weight to his knees so Garak could take some of his slick onto his hand and slip a finger inside him. Julian grabbed his sotl and pressed the head of it against him, working him like that for a while, rolling his hips so the head of his sotl dipped around the edges of his river star. (In this matter as well, Julian preferred the Kardasi to the Federation Standard.) Julian ran his hot fingers over the slick length of him, and when Garak let out a guttural groan, he stopped his teasing and held still so Garak could guide himself inside.

Garak didn’t know how Julian had figured out that he felt slightly annoyed whenever Julian took this important job from him. He hoped it wasn’t through illegally obtained Cardassian holos. ‘Unzipping the purse’’ worked a bit differently with Julian’s anatomy, but still thrilled Garak. It was shortly after they’d gotten together, must have been among the first dozen times they’d made love; – wait, why did that ridiculous Terran phase spring to mind? – they were in the holosuites, in Garak’s unhackable Kardasi sauna program, and Julian was splayed beneath Garak, sweat covering his body, eyelashes fluttering, cheeks flushed a rusty rose, drunk on expensive kanar and laughing in melodic tones. It had been a simple thing, really; Garak had expected Julian to do as he’d done when they had been in these positions before, greedily grab him as though he were stealing a drek fruit from the market. Instead, Julian kissed him on the nose, of all places, and laid back, placed his hands behind his head, raised his eyebrows in a challenge, an invitation, in a way so familiar, so very Cardassian, Garak blinked in surprise. Julian didn’t say a word, didn’t have to, but in that moment Garak realized: this was someone who could _know_ him. If the circumstances were right. If Julian wished to. If Garak allowed it. And the rush Garak felt from it was so intense, he exceeded their allotted holosuite time by several hours. Well worth the month of favors for Quark.

Julian let out a deeply satisfied moan as he sank back down onto Garak’s leaking sotl, staying still for a few moments to allow them both time to adjust. Despite the hours of overstimulation, Garak still felt fully electric, ready to crackle and snap from Julian’s warm skin against his, buried inside and surrounded by Julian’s warmth.

“I know, you’re old and tired,” Julian rolled his hips and gave them just a slight snap at the end to force Garak deeper inside him, “so allow me.”

Garak’s ridges flushed and his mouth went dry. “I am at your service,” he offered meekly, but what echoed in his mind was _use me, use me, use me, use me any way you want, any way you’ll have me._ As if Julian could hear these dangerous thoughts, he shamelessly ground himself down on Garak’s sotl and then began indulgently stroking himself, dipping his fingers around Garak’s ajan and slicking himself up with Garak’s waters.

How thoroughly he enjoyed being used and the myriad of ways in which Julian used him; for comfort, for pleasure, for companionship, for mystery, for intrigue. It was all he desired, his deepest satisfaction found in the quirk of Julian’s eyebrow when he needled him over lunch (let me entertain you), his jubilant excitement over a new holosuite game (let me accompany you), the volumes that would spill from Julian’s mouth when he was anxious, or sad, or confused (let me catch your worries), the quiet warmth of Julian’s body pressed against his on the lounge (let me simply be with you.) Garak relished every bit of service he could provide for Julian, perhaps deriving more pleasure from these moments than even when in the throes of passion.

But that was where he existed in the moment, fully given over to the physical experience. Julian felt so good wrapped around him, and he didn’t even realize the precious gift he was giving: the unabashed expressions and sounds of pleasure, rolling his head back, grinning from ear to ear, caressing Garak’s shoulder ridges with his deliciously warm hands. There was absolutely no doubt as to how much he was enjoying himself. Garak drank in every sound of satisfaction, every undulation of Julian’s body against his as he took his pleasure, what was rightfully his, what was Garak’s honor to give. His doctor let out a small high-pitched squeak, and Garak knew the drill. Time to speed it up.

“Please, allow me,” Garak said as he wrapped his hand around Julian’s cock. Your hands should never know work, he thought. Julian let out an indecent moan as Garak began working his hand over the head of Julian’s cock exactly the way he liked it, freeing his warm hands to grip Garak’s shoulder ridges.

“[Yes, yes, yes,]” Julian cried in Kardasi while riding him as though no other feeling could compare. Seeing him strung out at the height of passion and pleasure got to him. Garak could hold himself back no longer. Better make it complex, he thought.

“[I adore you, desert flower,]” Garak muttered into the crook of Julian’s neck, using an archaic tense of the verb found primarily in historical literature. “[I adore you endlessly.]”

Well, that was certainly interesting. Julian licked the ridge at the base of Garak’s jaw and kept his vocalizations to gasps just in case he’d misheard.

“[I long to pull your wagon, I wish to carry your goods home from market,]” Garak said in early Strata-era Kardasi, desperate and wanting.

Julian recognized this line, and wracked his brain for where he’d heard it; at least, as much as he was able to while getting fiercely fucked in Garak’s lap. “[Yes, pleasure me,]” he managed to choke out.

“[You drive me to the edge of abdication,]” Garak said, speaking in - wasn’t that a Hebetian phrase? - as he tightened his grip on Julian’s hips, using them as leverage to piston up into him. “ I… serve you,” Garak stuttered in Federation Standard.

Julian blinked in surprise. Well, wait – that didn’t mean what it did in Kardasi. Did it? “Put yourself to good use then,” he responded, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. Too casual. What if Garak had been trying to say – no. That couldn’t be the case. But still. Too quick. Wrong, wrong, wrong, always wrong, his brain and mouth and heart always trying to beat the other to the punch, always working against themselves, failing to work together unless they were united in working against Julian.

“[I serve you only,]” Garak said, this time completing the phrase in the language it belonged to, in Kardasi, quiet and broken, gasping into Julian’s chest as he pressed his chufa against Julian’s shoulder. Unmistakably, Julian had just heard a Cardassian love confession, from Garak. As typical for Kardasi, the true meaning cloaked in a phrase that could quite easily pass at face value, depending upon the context. Julian was no expert, but he was fairly certain the phrase being used in the now carried far more weight.

But he wasn’t supposed to know that.

As with most skills he’d learned, Julian’s desire to learn Kardasi had started as a way to impress Garak, the thrill of uttering a few random words over lunch too inviting to resist. After they became lovers, Garak’s hissing and clicking, the sibilant, curling sounds of Kardasi wrapped around him in a different way. It had soon become a hyperfixation that took over what little spare time Julian had. He had been studying Kardasi daily, quietly, in between patients and on slow shifts in the infirmary, with a few minutes of audio programs before work and sometimes written worksheets in the evenings. He quickly tired of the dull language holoprograms, with their inane conversations about the layout of a starship and how to find a restaurant, a lavatory, a doctor, a store. After all, he’d undertook this journey to learn about the real Cardassia, real Cardassians, one Cardassian in particular. And as usual, instead of being able to go about it in a measured, steady way, the way a ‘normal’ person would, Julian had gorged himself on every shred of education and information he could find, stuffing his enhanced brain as full of it as he could, able to think of little else, finding himself reading right through the night, only realizing the time when his alarm went off.

Garak didn’t know Julian had watched all twenty-one seasons of _Tales of Devotion and Honor_ , a daytime Kardasi drama that followed the lives of Legate K’null, his wife Earis, and their immediate and extended family. He also didn’t know that Julian had purchased the _Duty in the Red Dust_ trilogy, about the forbidden love affair of Mer and Biha, who were eventually pardoned by the state for the virtuous acts they performed during the First Akleenite War, or that he had a holo of the Kardasi romance _Service Is The Only Virtue_ , a highly stylized version of the real-life romance between Castellan Erak and First Spouse Trilmet, who averted a civil war with their leadership and devotion to the Cardassian people. _Four Ways to Elar_ , the lowbrow comedy series about a family of merchants from the rural eastern continent, was never going to be among Garak’s recommendations, but it did offer Julian more insight into Cardassian culture and relationships. Julian was almost certain Garak had no idea he’d obtained a copy of _The Season of Rain_ , the story of Pelik and Rilan, farmers in the Northern Territories. One of most notorious works of gay Kardasi erotica of the last hundred years, it was still banned on Cardassia Prime. (Julian, impetuous as he was, started with this, taking far too long to realize he needed additional context to truly grasp why the detailed tale was considered so scandalous.)

And, Julian realized with a sinking feeling in his chest, Garak didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know Julian felt the same way, that the words had been on the tip of his tongue, trapped inside his mouth, caught in his throat, burning inside his chest for what, weeks now, and he’d been unable to say them.

“[Allow me the privilege of serving as though I belong at your feet.]” Sure, Garak was using arcane terms that had long left the popular lexicon, but… if everything Julian had read was accurate…

Julian was stunned, and didn’t know what to do except what he had recently learned: to bite down on the third scale of Garak’s shoulder ridge, the one that occasionally turned blue or charcoal depending upon Garak’s emotional state. An act typically only performed in betrothal or marriage, which in Cardassian culture, was the only acceptable type of serious relationship. And as activities ‘outside of procreation’ did not have legal recognition, this was the best Julian could do in the moment. Surely, Garak wouldn’t miss that. He thought for a moment that he’d seen a brief expression of surprise cross Garak’s features, but then he was too busy coming to do anything but close his eyes and hold onto Garak for dear life as his ears started ringing.

“[May I?]” Garak asked as Julian was still in the throes of wave after wave of pleasure. All he could do was nod as a deep moan left his throat. He always forgot this was customary, that pleasing one’s partner was the ultimate goal of Cardassian intimacy. And there it was again.

No, he was not hearing things. “[I serve you only,]” Garak had said not once, or even twice, but several times in a row as he’d pumped Julian full of floodwaters that ran out of him and soaked Julian’s calves and the cushions of the lounge.

As the waves of sensation subsided, Julian tried to calm himself. He hadn’t meant to keep all this from Garak; he really hadn’t. His insecurities, combined with chronic need to overachieve and the way his goddamned brain worked, had caught up with him, yet again. He hadn’t meant to hide, to lie by omission, or worse, to deliberately mislead.

What he’d meant to do was start a nice, spicy argument over dinner, the type that would lead to him pinning Garak against the wall and fucking the Cardassian furiously while he kept his composure and talked to Julian as though they were at a casual lunch. Or where Garak’s Cardassian instincts would take over and he’d chase Julian around his quarters until he ‘caught’ him and pinned him down, fucked him and covered him with mating bites. All he wanted to do was wait until the moment was right, until the sexual charge was hanging in the air, and then say something in Kardasi, preferably something so witty and clever it would stun Garak into silence for a beat. Then he would say or. Or he’d wait. Or something. Julian’s fantasy of how it would be said for the first time was the same as all of it; it didn’t matter who was doing what. He imagined it all sorts of ways, but he did not imagine it this way, with Garak muttering love confessions into his theniaz and then falling asleep moments later. Julian’s thoughts were spinning now, completely out of control, multiplying so there were ten of them at a time cascading through his mind like coding errors, breaking everything they touched. He took a breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. He would find an answer for this in the morning. That’s how it was supposed to go, right? That’s what everyone always said to him. “Sleep on it,” as if sleep itself would correct his faulty wiring and grant him the clarity everyone else always seemed to have. Well, he had nothing to lose by giving it a try.

* * *

Several hours later, Julian was still awake in the darkness, his mind racing madly, allowing him no rest. Garak was sound asleep next to him, silent as an assassin. If Julian hadn’t watched him breathing, he might have suspected something was horribly wrong. He was always so composed, even when he slept, devotion to precision and order apparent in everything from the position of his hands over his abdomen and his head on the pillow. He was always so controlled, except when it came to Julian. Only Julian got to see him with his literal hair down, flung in wild strands after hours of passion. And now, the Cardassian so mysterious and enigmatic Julian had once called him a brick wall (to Garak’s delight), had let loose a string of love declarations so intense they’d stunned Julian into silence. He was certain Garak meant what he said, but also certain that Garak didn’t want him to know what he had said.

Social interactions had never been Julian’s forte; he was well aware of the many relationships and friendships he’d mucked up over the years by being unable to see things the way others did. Which led to his inability to say the right things. He’d spent months wondering if Garak joined him for lunches and dinners and drinks solely out of pity for the ‘weird’ and ‘annoying’ CMO, as his ‘Federaji thinking’ rendered him unable to grasp the messages of the Cardassian classics, and his recommendations lacked the complexity of Kardasi texts. He had only recently shed that belief, years after he’d learned that verbal sparring and bickering were a highly valued component of Cardassian relationships. In particular, his very important relationship with one Cardassian. 

Suddenly, the neurons in his jumbled and traitorous mind fired off, and Julian had an idea. He bit at his cuticles while he mulled it over, turning and flipping the concept around until the steps of a plan became clear. Then he got up from the bed as quietly as possible. He fiddled with the environmental controls until he’d increased the ambient noise levels by several decibels and disabled the chime on Garak’s door. Then he tiptoed into Garak’s lavatory and threw on his uniform. He took one last look into Garak’s sleeping area, and then slinked out, hoping that he would be able to pull this off.

* * *

The longest eight minutes of his life later, Julian was back in Garak’s quarters, slowly bringing the ambient noise back down, carefully trading his Starfleet uniform for the robe he had borrowed, then climbing back onto the firm mattress, slipping one skinny leg at a time under the covers. He nervously fiddled with the Kardasi reader, turning it on and off a few times before finally finding the courage to poke Garak with his foot.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Garak, but-"

“Mmm, dear Doctor, don’t apologize.”

“It’s just that, um, well – I was having a hard time sleeping.”

“Oh?” Garak rolled over and looked at Julian with mild amusement. “I do know an assortment of Kardasi lullabies. However, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to use any of them. Might need to warm up my voice with some Tarkalean tea before doing any vocalizations.”

Julian giggled. Oh, did he have it bad. He put a hand on Garak’s cheek. In the dim light, he could barely make out the ridges above Garak’s eyes. Garak, on the other hand, could see extremely well in low light, and Julian was truly trying to pull this off without showing his hand.

“It’s interesting you bring that up, I was actually going to ask if I could read to you.”

“Oh? And what piece of literature thrills you so that you wish to read it aloud to me at oh-four hundred-hours?”

“It’s, ah, it’s-" Julian fought to hold back a stutter, “-it’s a, it’s something I think you might know.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” _Okay, Jules, now or never_ , he thought. “Would you mind?”

“Nothing would please me more. Computer, raise lights by ten percent.”

The light was just enough for Julian to do what he’d been practicing. He cleared his throat, and began to read from _The Season of Rain._

“[When the greens of the spring gave way to the ripening heat of the summer, Pelik and Rilan gazed upon the crops from the golden boundary fence. Their months of hard work had produced a bounty that would be appreciated by many.

“Pelik bowed his head. “The halakha is rising, and the p’lek fruit are nearing their ripeness. Our devotion to the soil has yielded abundance. You are a skilled farmer, Rilan, behold the happiness of the quenched leaves of the Uv.]”

Garak froze. A crackle ran over his skin, his scales tingling at the sound of his father tongue spoken expertly, perfectly. He had known Julian had obtained a copy of this novel, and sure, it had raised his ridges in amusement, but he figured it would present itself in sexual matters, Julian spitting out a few phrases while deep inside him, or firing off a Kardasi taunt before Garak clapped a hand over his mouth and fucked him into the mattress. He did not expect… this.

“[“Let us walk the fields,” said Rilan, and Pelik followed him directly. But Pelik’s movement was unsteady, and he fell to the ground after his foot became caught in the yellow vine.

Rilan thought nothing but to reach for Pelik, to help him stand.]”

Nothing about Kardasi was easy. Garak was aware of Julian’s enhancements, and his delight at watching Julian attempt to conceal it appealed to him more than being invited to carry Julian’s secret. Even so. To speak some Kardasi was one thing, but to read? He wanted to snatch the outdated reader from Julian’s fingers, to ask how on Prime he’d done this, but he was too awed by the twirling phrases being released into his quarters by one Julian Bashir.

“[Pelik, why does your hand shake so upon the seedling trowel?” asked Rilan. “Why do your footsteps falter in the rows of the Uv?”

Pelik was uncertain to reveal his weakness, afraid that he might lose the companionship he cherished. He hid his eyes from Rilan as to hide from the sun.

Rilan took the seedling trowel from Pelik’s hand. “I insist that you meet your eyes with mine. Surely you must not think so little of me, that you would steal yourself from my knowing?]”

How rare this thrill, that this wondrous creature in his bed had the ability to surprise him. Garak closed his eyes and listened to Julian’s tongue slice and serve the Kardasi perfectly, and painfully so; curling, winding, spiraling off his lips and into the space between them. He felt Julian breathing life into the language of his home world, the words riding on the puffs of air, landing on his chest. Garak lay completely still, cataloguing every possible sensory element of the experience. Especially the scent of his k’fyet cologne that had seeped from his robe onto Julian’s skin, mingled with his warmth, floated through the air onto his tongue, then pressed against the roof of his mouth, consumed, committed to memory.

“[Pelik stood in silence, his words as far away as evening lights. When he spoke, he was soft and quiet. “I am afraid that I am weak, that my forbidden desire shall drive you from me and I will walk the dry fields alone for the rest of my days].”

Garak wasn’t often wrong, but one thing he’d learned in the Order was that to delay admitting a mistake could result in death. And Garak could not remember the last time he’d missed something like this. He’d underestimated Julian’s persistence, his stubbornness, his sheer cloying tenacity. The man would not give up. He simply would not quit. He would not cease his attempts to know Garak, because he was capable of this burden.

“[Listen, Pelik, listen! Listen as though I am giving you instructions to save a life. Your fear is a t’mikpal, the imagined creature of old. I recognize that it grips your heart, but such creature does not exist. Clear your mind that you understand me, Pelik: only you may follow me through the maze of the sprawling Uv vine, only you may join me in the afternoon shade provided by the dry season climbing grain, only you may tap my well, to irrigate your fields,” said Rilan. He reached for the gentle seam of Pelik’s palm and pressed it to his.]”

Garak felt a joy so deep, he began to cry, the salt leaving his eyes in chunks and crumbles. He had not heard Kardasi spoken in person since his exile; he had long given up hope that he would ever hear it from a living mouth for the rest of his days. It had been decades since anyone had said anything kind, personal, to him in his father tongue. How long it had been since anyone had done so intimate as to read to him in Kardasi, he didn’t know. He brushed away the dry tears working their way out, grinning like a just-fed l’neth as he did so. For the first time since his exile, Garak felt contentment. He felt a warmth blooming in his chest as Julian reached the most famous passage of the book. He’d never admit it to any Cardassian, but it also happened to be his favorite. One was allowed to follow the opinion of the masses, at times.

Garak mouthed the words that Julian spoke aloud.

“[“Rilan gave his chufa the freedom to find Pelik’s. “I will speak quietly so I do not startle you. My multiflowered window orchid, my ordered thoughts, my crackling river, you must now curse your fear, that it may make a hasty retreat. When the rains are few and the soil cries out in need, I will share in the drag of the plow. You will need no other’s hands upon your rakes. I serve you only, to you only I offer the work of my hands. Your secrets are carried inside my work vest, that they may live close to my heart.”

And Pelik smiled, his burden finally shared, the weight of the plow eased from his shoulders. His chufa became desire-blue, and his tongue followed behind. He looked at Rilan with the light of want. “Rilan, I beg of you. Tap the well, that the water may run freely through the fields, that the stalks of halakha may grow high and strong, to offer us welcomed shade in the heat of the afternoon.”]”

Julian let the reader fall from his hand, a sigh following closely behind it. His face was anguished as he turned to Garak, who knew what was coming and tried to beat Julian to it, but as usual, he was too slow.

“What I’m trying to say is, I love you, Garak, I love you and I didn’t – Elim, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to-“

Julian was interrupted by Garak pressing a cool grey finger to his lips. “Computer, deactivate. Authorization Garak, code five seven two Beta Lambda black.” There was a quiet beep, and then nothing. There was no indication that Garak had done anything at all, except that he fixed those piercing blue eyes on Julian, cupped his jaw, and finally, spoke freely:

“[My t’silrar, my well-made business coat, my shield of honor, my evening flower, my upheld virtue, my temperate ocean, my welcomed duty, my diminutive kil’sat, my first star that appears to my eyes in between the moons on a summer night,”] Garak said urgently, yet smoothly, [“there is no need for you to elucidate in the weak tongue of the Federaji your affections towards me. You have made yourself as clear as the skies of the Northern Continent, as sharp as the lines of the State Archives, as illuminated as the lights that mark the Winter Festival Season. I have taken my net and inside it caught your every word, that I might carry each syllable, each breath to the k’hee flower pond that nests inside my heart and set them free, that all your words may swim like ropal and multiply inside my chest, to keep me company when the golden syrup of your voice is not sticky across my scales.]”

Julian, who had not even realized he’d been holding his breath, inhaled a broken gasp that spoke volumes.

"[I have not known surprise since I was a very young man. Tonight, you reveal you are the hunter of this rare treasure! You are the reason it has long gone extinct. You have skillfully captured every scuttling creature of surprise and hidden them away from all the planets. Ah, and your forward acts; they have placed my roots into a new pot and caused me a shock. I speak in error! I only believed it was extinct, forever vanished. My belief is flawed, cracked, and must be repaired. Instead you, my ray of sunshine, have been cultivating the surprises and waiting for the moment to set them free for my amusement. You bring me a suitcase full of river stones as if they are scavenged scrap metal from the Naval Yards.”] Garak laughed and patted Julian’s hair. [“Does he realize the price of the gift he has given me? He does not. He learns the tongue before he learns the planet. He runs first, and crawls after.]"

Julian looked at Garak, expecting to see disapproval, anger, annoyance, or worse, disappointment on Garak’s face. He was surprised to see Garak’s eyes sparkling, mirthful creases that Julian had never seen surrounding them.

“[Now, you must realize I, of the Order, I of Cardassia, I _know_ you, Chu’lian Bas’hir.]”

Julian had always loved the way Garak said his name, but tonight as he heard the outline of it, he finally understood the linguistic mechanics of why it sounded so, and it fell upon his ears as the monsoon rains upon the dry fields. He couldn’t keep the right side of his mouth from creeping into a smile.

"[Surely you know I studied you as one would study the arts of survival. And, my Chu’lian, my desert rose, my gourd-lute melody, you are the knife I hide in my leg covering, you are the kil’kil’set I wish to have under my home hunting the venomous night winder.]”

Garak pulled back so he could briefly press his forehead to Julian’s and watch the comprehension spread across his doctor’s face. “[I am certain he wonders, why now, does he speak so freely? Why now do the hoarded words tumble from his mouth as tea spilled upon the floor? Have they lost their value? Does he wish to toss them away without consideration? Before he asks, I clarify. I did not realize you were capable of pulling the plow you sought to use. I would be acting in disrespect if I did not allow you to shoulder the burden that which you were capable of, to brick you as though you were incapable of holding honor and virtue. I cannot do such a disservice to my blooming ss’lei.]”

Garak took a deep breath and stared at the floor for a moment while scratching the base of his jaw ridge, and in doing so, offered Julian another treasure; the reveal of a nervous gesture. “[Often I worry, of the ways of Cardassia, of the ways in which I was trained. However, she has washed me from her robes. It had not occurred to me until you breathed the wind tongue of my planet that perhaps the rules of Cardassia no longer hang as a chain around my neck. Perhaps my brittleness is in error. Perhaps the slender path upon which I have trod leads only to ruin. Are you burdened by my words, or may I continue to breathe them out?]”

Julian chuckled and shook his head. “[I could never refuse such a gift.]”

Garak laughed again. Another gem for Julian’s taking. He was more animated than Julian had ever seen him, and he relished the thrill of witnessing something so rare.

“[Compared to the cloaked sentiments of a simple tailor, your brash convictions are the patterns in the leaves of the map palm. You are the light that illuminates the path to safety. I thought my desires were all in vain, as I dared to hope you could be capable of recognizing me, and now, to my delight of core, I know that you could pull the blade that is to know me. If you desire, I offer you this, my Chu’lian. And while I disparage the flat, colorless tongue of the Federaji, it is all for amusement, and without harm. I awake with gratitude in my heart that I can speak it, that I may hear it fall from your lips without the barrier of the cranking word breaker between us. I continue my study of the nose-high language only so I may work my hands around the fabrics woven by your Terra, your home full of water. I interrupt you because I heard the bite of your teeth upon my scale of blue, I felt the touch of intention upon my wrists tied in ropes, I happily accept the currency of enjoyment you freely give to me as though you possess an infinite supply. I stop you because I know you, Chu’lian, and I know you would never use a dull knife in the place of a carefully prepared surgical blade. However, should you wish to use the dry and feeble words of the tongue you know best, I shall voice no further protest. I only wish you to understand that you have already spoken these words to me. Already you have broken the cipher. Already you stand inside my home.”]

For the first time in his life, Julian was at a loss for words, letting out a series of shocked gasps before his vision went blurry. Garak licked the tears off his face and then captured his lips, the weight of his confessions infusing the kiss with something electric between them, something new. He wrapped his warm fingers around Garak’s wrists, continued kissing him desperately. A broken sob wrapped in disbelief and accompanied by delight escaped Julian’s throat, and Garak gathered him in his arms, cradled the back of his neck, held him as though he might break, clicked out the first verse of a Kardasi lullaby to soothe his evening flower. Julian finally lifted his head and met Garak’s eyes, but still said nothing.

“Has the cat gotten your tongue, my dear?” Garak asked playfully in Federation Standard, stroking his smooth fingers through Julian’s hair. It was then that Julian wiped the tears that continued to roll down his cheeks even as he laughed joyfully.

“Perhaps this once,” Julian said, a mysterious, fleeting look Garak had only ever seen on fellow Cardassians crossing his features before he rolled onto his back and pulled Garak atop him.

**Author's Note:**

> I love everyone who writes and reads in this fandom. You are all saints, and if you've used a word or a concept in your fic, I likely keep adding it to mine to keep building upon what we have here. I have referenced many of my favorite pics for world building in here and certain terms. I will add all the terms I added in here, too. Also, if anyone is interested in continuing more work on a Kardasi dictionary I am so fucking down, you have no idea. I am *inhales* obsessed and working on a story with some original characters set around the time that the Dominion War kicks off. Sigh. I can't get enough of these fuckin lizards, man. Anyways. I'm so tired cause I wrote most of this in three days, forgetting to eat as I did so, and I need to post it and then go back and add some words in. All my love to my Garashir homies, Bryan Fuller, if you're reading this, drop a link to your fics
> 
> ****
> 
> Okay, wanted to add some context in here for some words, I'll just be adding to this when I can. 
> 
> tiz - in the tinsnip/vyc dictionary this is referred to as 'piss,' in my mind it's also slang for um... there's gotta be something like cocaine in the Cardassian system right? right.  
> sotl - as noted below in the comments comes from ConceptaDecency (just like in other languages you know, sometimes we have a preference for what we... call... things... ;)  
> psi'mar - this is i imagine sort of like a tortoise but more flat. I assembled this from two of the words already in the dictionary but now that I need to find them I can't lol. I believe one of the words is 'segment'  
> hor'sissk is from AlphaCygni's incredible work Especially the Lies - I don't know if it's been fully defined but :) I'm sure y'all can figure it out :) context is everything  
> I first saw the tinsnip/vyc "Federaji" in an Australis_Reynolds piece (The Mating Signal), which honestly I just *chef's kiss*.  
> t'mikpal - i think of as some sort of imaginary beast told to children that is under their bed  
> yat - open/outdoor grill
> 
> Ill keep adding to these notes as i go along and add more on tumblr, most likely <3 <3 <3


End file.
